


we're more alike than anybody could ever tell

by NaomiLeyers



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Compliant, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, M/M, Oral Sex, Sort Of, The Author Regrets Nothing, They Still Have Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiLeyers/pseuds/NaomiLeyers
Summary: Gannicus waits, patiently if the sentence comes with a second part. It doesn’t. Instead, Spartacus leans against the wall of the temple and smiles at him, drunkenly and happily and appreciatively.in which going for it is obviously a bad idea, but, luckily, they are both really good at bad ideas
Relationships: Gannicus/Spartacus
Kudos: 42





	we're more alike than anybody could ever tell

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing belongs to me except plot (I wish), the characters belong to Steven deKnight and Starz, all mistakes are my own and the title is from Demi Lovato’s and Selena Gomez’s One and the Same, because the boys would be the world’s loveliest disney princesses and I stand by my choice ;-)

„When you said you were going to kill them all, I guess the Romans didn’t realize you meant your own people.” he says quietly to Spartacus.

The Thracian blinks at him, unfocused. So the wine does get to him when Mira can’t, after all.

“I didn’t,” Spartacus says then slowly, clearly focused on pronouncing the words properly. It’s kind of endearing, in a way, which on its own is terrifying; Gannicus quite liked it when he found Spartacus mostly infuriating and slightly frustrating. The endearing part is new and unwelcome.

Gannicus waits, patiently if the sentence comes with a second part. It doesn’t. Instead, Spartacus leans against the wall of the temple and smiles at him, drunkenly and happily and appreciatively.

“If y’ helped me, Glab’r wouldn’t stand a chance,” he states, decisively and Gannicus almost laughs, even though it is not funny at all.

“And Rome would send another army,” he counters and Spartacus shrugs.

“Then we’d kill them too.”

“For Sura?” Gannicus asks coldly and if he sounds bitter, well, this man is about to get Oenomaus killed in a broken dream of a long-dead woman so he thinks he is allowed to feel annoyed.

“For justice,” Spartacus answers. “Yes, for Sura. For Varro. For Naevia. For Melitta. For Auctus. For Barca. For Pietros. For Duro. For everyone whose life was ruined because some messed up shit of a person thought it would be pleasant.” He steadies himself against the wall and takes another long gulp of wine and then he looks at Gannicus it a way that makes him shudder, because there is grief and sadness in his look and Gannicus is not a fucking damsel in distress and he doesn’t need his fucking sympathy. “For Crixus.” Spartacus adds then. “For Oenomaus. For me and for you. Maybe we deserve justice too.”

“We deserve-“

Spartacus interrupts him rather impolitely by swaying to a side and Gannicus catches him before he can fall and Spartacus wraps his arms (strong, lean, muscular arms, not that it is of any importance) around Gannicus’s neck, putting part of his weight on him.

“Death?” he whispers, his breath warm. “I remember those words.” He smirks. “They were quite something. Maybe. But still. Illythia was not my decision. I doubt Varus was yours.”

A part of Gannicus would very much like to ask him how exactly he knows about Varus. Another one would very much like to punch something, repeatedly. Instead, he sighs and slowly takes the jug of wine from Spartacus and takes a gulp himself, which happens to require a surprising amount of skill given that the Thracian is still wrapped around him like the world’s most intoxicated shawl.

“The beauty of being a slave,” he says then, “is you don’t get to _choose_, Spartacus.”

“The curse,” Spartacus counters.

Then he loses his balance again and he presses closer to Gannicus, almost _too close_ and this is a bad idea, no, a terrible idea, but somehow Gannicus isn't the only one between them _stirring_ and when he looks up at Spartacus, his pupils are blown, so that his eyes look almost black and he experimentally rolls his hips against Gannicus’s and while he is still steadying himself with one hand, the other travels up Gannicus’s neck to cup his face and lift it. As if Gannicus needed any assistance, no matter how bad- amazing, arousing- _bad_ idea it is and he takes a hold of Spartacus’s arms and waits for a kiss.

Instead, Spartacus moves his fingers into his hair (which is nice) and he looks deadly serious. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks as if there is anything Gannicus could want more right now, no matter how stupid the idea of this is. “I am no Roman. I care for consent. I won’t do anything without it.”

So he isn't that drunk. Shame. Gannicus was hoping he was. Then he could blame all of this on alcohol. Instead of answering though, he leans forward and kisses Spartacus himself and it isn't gentle; it could have been and if this happens to be more than a once in a lifetime alcohol-induced night of raw pleasure, he is more than happy to show the other man what he was missing when he was fucking people who weren’t _Gannicus_, but it can wait. Right now he presses Spartacus against the wall and rolls his hips against his and the taller man laughs breathlessly, whispers “Fuck!” and parts his lips to grant the Celt access.

Then he rolls them over and Gannicus isn't exactly sure when it happened (_Doctore _would have killed him for losing control over his surrounding like that) but he is the one leaning against the wall and Spartacus is biting a line of kisses down his neck and collarbone and then he slides to his knees, making a short process with Gannicus’s pants and he isn't really going to- it is generally considered demeaning among Republic, surely Spartacus wouldn’t-

Except that he does and he is a fucking natural, his fingers digging into Gannicus’s hips and his mouth sliding over his cock and taking him in and Gannicus doesn’t even try to keep what is left of his dignity as he whispers Spartacus’s name over and over in quite encouragement and he could swear to gods that Spartacus fucking smirks around his cock and takes him even deeper.

“Close,” he manages to whisper and Spartacus hums and leans back but not entirely and mutters something that sound suspiciously like “of course” and he can’t seriously think of swallowing but he doesn’t move away and then he does _something_ with his tongue and_ then_ Gannicus stops caring altogether and he comes with a shout.

He doesn’t even try to hold himself up when his knees give up and he isn't really sure how he feels about it but he still leans forward and he kisses Spartacus on the mouth, deep, tasting himself and it is surprisingly _arousing_.

“What about you?” he murmurs and Spartacus looks more ashamed than he has when he was the only one on his knees.

“I almost didn’t even need a hand,” he admits softly, “you should have seen yourself. It was-“

Gannicus interrupts him with another kiss to shut him up and when they part again, Spartacus’s eyes are sharp and concentrated again. 

“Do I have your support now?” he asks, but there is something new, something like care and like amusement in his voice.

And Gannicus laughs against his lips, rich and warm and they are not in love and this is ridiculous and no matter how good lay the Thracian is (or how good strategist he is, for that matter) he is still going to get them killed and if Gannicus had at least an ounce of common sense in him he would be already on a ship somewhere far away. But then again, if Gannicus had at least an ounce of common sense he would have killed Oenomaus and Crixus back in the arena. If he had at least an ounce of common sense, he would have killed Spartacus in their fight. If he had at least an ounce of common sense, he wouldn’t have returned to Capua. Or he would have gone straight to Glaber and he would have told him everything he knew. He would have accepted Glaber’s offer and he wouldn’t have kidnapped Illythia and he definitely wouldn’t be thinking about going down on the Rome’s biggest enemy the moment he can find it in himself to move again and he knows, _knows_ he is just as crazy and just as idealistic and just as suicidal as Spartacus albeit in a less megalomaniacal way and he would never lead, but he is more than ready to follow. And so he presses closer and whispers, _“Convince me_.” and well.

Never let it be said that Spartacus turned away from a challenge. 

THE END


End file.
